


Last Tango in San Francisco

by Radiolaria



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Character Death, Digital Art, Drawing, Explosives, F/F, Fanart, Gun Violence, I Thelma & Louise'd Milippa, I don't know, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Or Leverage'd Milippa, Redemption, The fic is just... tragic context that's all, They are still more tragic in the show so I win, Tragic Romance, in which I have foolish AU ideas for doodles and then have to provide context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 14:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/pseuds/Radiolaria
Summary: Michael is a mastermind, Philippa is a fixer. For years they maintained wealth and chaos for the powerful Fleet mob, relishing in the thrill of adventure and power. Until they decide to change the world, together.





	Last Tango in San Francisco

**Author's Note:**

> What happens when I have AU ideas, the time for a drawing but not a fic. I am sorry.
> 
> Photo reference: [Paula Lobo](4.bp.blogspot.com/-xn6q-JhhrMQ/UmuiyyTeKZI/AAAAAAAAU2o/EjOKuoa2N0g/s1600/1.jpg)
> 
> Still blissfully ignoring 1x04.

“7 years.”

“I know.”

“I followed you. I trusted you.”

“I know.”

“I l—“

“I know, Michael. Believe me, I know.”

Michael’s lips harden into a thin line and Philippa wants to shout back that she does too, always and across universes. It’s too late, too hard. She won’t say it like this.

“You said we were going to end this together.”

Michael’s voice is like a blank page, sharp edges and panic without end.

“We are,” Philippa breathes. ”You will simply have to be brave alone for a little while afterwards. And to forgive me.”

Dark confident eyes look back at her with a mixture of pride and hurt. If the plan works, they will have saved hundreds of lives, and avenged far more, and Michael knows this. The need of the many outweighs the need of the few. 

In this case, the one.

Philippa heaves a deep, perfunctory sigh, because she has to stand here a little longer and to look at her. She engraves in her mind the face of the woman before her, selfishly, painfully. Talking when she wants to do nothing but hold Michael one last time is excruciating, it might kill her before the Fleet does.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she whispers. “Thank you. For everything, for your friendship, for your inspiration.”

“Philippa, they will…”

If Philippa closes her eyes, perhaps she will escape for a second the fate promised to traitors of the Fleet, but it would mean losing sight of Michael for just as long and she cannot bear it. What caused Michael to trail off for the first time in their seven years together, seven years of running and stealing, of daring escapes and backroom deals, fake moustaches and smoky ballrooms, is the reason this has to end the way she is ending this tonight.

In an old church waiting for destruction, of all places.

“I have the possibility to spare you with only minor adjustments to the plan. Do you really think I would let it go? I’d rather have one of us live.”

“Why not you?”

Michael’s eyes are defiant.

“Because I thought of it first.”

“You cannot do that to me. Do not die for me. Not because of them.”

“I believe saving you is more important than foolish promises. The police will never let go of the two of us. But you, alone, after what we gave them…”

The pain on Michael’s face is immense, far beyond any emotion the young mastermind has displayed in their years together. She is collected and private and during the past year, employed to dismantling from the inside the Fleet, she blossomed into someone so inclined to express her hope and joy that Philippa forgot the natural conclusion of their work could bare so wholly a less enjoyable reality.

She cannot do this. But she has to.  

“Know this will be the greatest gift I could give you. Your freedom and my devotion.”

The dry clap of a car door echoes in the empty building and this is all the warning they get that they are here. Philippa calculated it will take them two more minutes to surround the nave and then…

Her knuckles are white on the detonator.

“You should go now. The police will be here in a couple of minutes.”

And with them the reassurance all those years at the Fleet will end for good, will not breed any more dead. The city will be free, will heal and grow. She can rest at last.

The way she placed the explosives, they will all be trapped here. But Michael just has to step into the confessional and escape through the tunnel prepared for her.

From then on, a new life.

The case they built against the Fleet already took most of the heads down and the moribund corpse about to descend on Philippa will not escape this trap.

“Go, Michael. Find a way home. Live. Please.”

She knows what she did and the price for it. A bullet to the heart and then worse, but Michael will be safe and Philippa will have paid for her crimes.

Several shouts come from the back of the church, from beyond the main entrance and the side door. They want her to know they are coming.

Michael takes a step in her direction, holding out a hand for her as invitation.

“Do you remember our first mission together? You advised me to follow your footsteps. Even lines. I never stopped following you. And you never faltered in your trust when I led you in return.”

Her skin feels fresh across Philippa’s palm and it’s how she knows she took her hand.

_Oh, Number One, I trust you with my life. Even in death._

“You set a star for me, gave me a voice, when I only knew how to look down and obey.” Her voice falters and Philippa twines their fingers. “We built something this past year, something good and beautiful, and I have never been happier. All the crimes you committed, you committed with me. So let me finish this war with you. I am where I need to be.”

Philippa’s breath hitches in her throat and she can barely stand when Michael’s hand finds her back, secure, warm, and draws them closer. Her bangs brush against her forehead, her breath on her cheek. She swears she can see stars through her lashes.

Two doors burst open and Michael’s smile blooms on her face, devilish, like it always does when they are about to hit the road and outrun the police from three different states.

Her hand lingers on Philippa’s wrist, run lightly over the scars and close gently around her fingers. The detonator is pulsing there.

“Will you give me this last dance?”

“At last,” Philippa grumbles lightheartedly.

“Seven years and we never danced together? I cannot believe I deprived you of this blissful experience.”

Philippa smiles into Michael’s hair and someone is hurling expletives. A dozen guns are pointed at them.

“I'd say you're too confident for your own good, but I've seen the way you dance.”

Philippa tilts her head, assessing the placement of the Fleet’s men around them, and takes the opportunity to brush Michael’s lips with her own.

“As I have seen yours.”

“And your confidence is justified.”

The light kiss Michael places on her lips is as they lived their life, carelessly, lightning fast, but at last with a purpose.

“As is yours.”

Their eyes are locked when they press the detonator together.

 


End file.
